Nightingale
by piper maru duchovny
Summary: Best friends take care of each other and don't sugarcoat it when you look like crap. - takes place in an established AU.


**The beginning of this was written as I fought a particularly nasty cold and the latter half was written with a cat on my chest between my face and the computer so if there are any blatant errors... blame the cat. **

**A special thank you goes out to Rachel on this one for consistently kicking my butt until it got finished. Love you always, beef-ef. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing besides Austin. **

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><p>"You look like death," were the first words out of Lindsay Ross's mouth when Austin opened the door, "and I mean that in the kindest way possible. Go, sit down before you pass out."<p>

"So much love," Austin mumbled through her stuffy nose and turned to cough into the crook of her elbow, "I'm fine."

"Honey," Lindsay chuckled softly, "you're ending fine with a b, you're anything but fine."

Austin's eyes were watering, her nose bright red, and, despite the fact that she was shivering, her entire body was covered in a slick sheen of sweat. Her lungs were audibly rattling and she turned her head to cough again as she collapsed onto the couch. She pulled the legs of her sweat pants down to cover her feet that were already clad in thick knit socks, "is Adam okay with the kids? Daniel was really stuffy this morning."

"They're all fine," she promised and pulled a bottle of orange juice from her cloth grocery bag; she twisted off the cap and handed it to Austin, "drink this."

The woman took a small sip before cringing and coughing again, "I... ow."

"I know," she gave a sympathetic smile and eased Austin back on the couch, "drink it slowly and I'll make some tea and get your soup started."

"Don't gotta take care of me," Austin protested but curled obediently into the comfortable couch, "just a cold."

"Well, unless you want that cold to morph into pneumonia, we've got to get those lungs of yours cleared out."

"Whatever you say, Florence," she complied and tilted the small bottle back to empty the contents of it.

"Florence as in Nightingale?"

"Uh-nuh," Austin murmured before rolling over to curl up against the back of the couch.

"Sweet dreams, Sicky."

Lindsay chuckled softly to herself before setting about her work. She had brought the fixings for her mother's chicken soup with her in hopes that it would work the same magic on Austin that it had always worked on her when she was a kid. Mindlessly she pulled the utensils that she needed from their rightful spots and began to assemble the ingredients while humming an old hymn that she had learned as a child.

Her phone rang just as she put the lid on the pot to let it cook, "Danny, she's fine."

"Montana," her partner's voice traveled through the phone line, "I know her and she's the biggest baby in the world when she's sick but she tries to pretend like she isn't and I was actually calling to check that your sanity was still intact from dealing with it."

"Honestly," she held the phone between her ear and shoulder while filling the tea kettle, "she's mainly slept since I arrived. I got her to drink a tiny bottle of orange juice but after a minute or two of snark she turned over and went back to sleep."

"She must really feel like crap."

"That's the general consensus," Lindsay confirmed while peaking under the shelves above the sink to look at Austin still snoozing on the couch, "I've got it under control though. I'll get her to take some medicine when I feed her."

"You're the best," Danny promised her, "I owe you big time."

"I don't mind," she countered, "she's taken care of me plenty of times."

"Well, still... thanks Montana."

"Anytime," she smiled, "now get back to work."

While Austin slumbered and Danny fretted across the river in Manhattan, Lindsay worked on disinfecting the loft so that the kids wouldn't pick up the germs when they got home. She opened all the windows, stripped all the beds and tossed the linens in the washer on the hottest temp possible, and wiped down every flat surface with Lysol wipes. When she finished the kettle was screeching and the delicious aroma of chicken noodle soup had filled the apartment. She dropped mint tea bags into two coffee mugs and filled them with the hot water before stirring in a little bit of honey for Austin's throat. She placed them on a tray with two bowls of the soup and a small box of cold medicine before carrying it all into the living room where Austin was laying with one leg and an arm flung over the back of the sofa. Lindsay smirked and sat down on the coffee table, "Austin, time to wake up."

"Lindsay," Austin flopped over on the couch and forced herself into a seating position, "am I dead?"

"Still breathing," she placed two fingers on the sickly sweat covered side of her neck, "and there's still a pulse... so, I figure you're still kicking."

"Damn," Austin growled through a coffee, "at least hell would explain why I feel like someone ran me over with a car-hauler."

"You hear semi, eighteen wheeler, mack truck," Lindsay ticked the names off on her fingers, "but you don't get a good car-hauler reference much these days."

"Shuddup," the woman sniffled and reached for a tissue, "is that your mom's famous soup?"

"Yes, it is."

"Gimme."

"Soup or death?"

Austin chuckled and then cringed at the pain it caused. "Which ever one will put me out of my misery quicker."

"Soup it is!"

"You're no fun," she insisted but accepted the bowl of soup and curled her legs up under her, "thanks... for all of this."

"Not like you haven't done basically the same thing for me."

"Pizza is not homemade chicken noodle soup."

Lindsay shrugged and popped two of the pills from their foil packaging and placed them in her hand. The tea was too hot and Austin burnt her tongue but Lindsay's laugh made it slightly better (or, in the brunette's head, at least it served a purpose).

"Oh," Lindsay put her own bowl on the table and grabbed for her bag, "I've got one more sure-fire cure for all that ails you." She lifted her DVD set of Gilmore Girls from the cloth bag.

"Haunted leg?"

"Indeed," Lindsay smiled and flipped through the set before finding the one she was looking for, "and Kirk asking Lorelai out."

Austin smiled, "you do realize that if I start laughing then I'll end up coughing and I'll probably die."

"That's what I'm here for."

"Gee, thanks. I always did want an audience."

They settled into the couch and Lindsay sung along with the theme song from her favorite show while Austin slurped her soup obnoxiously. Just as Lorelai began to wish for a haunted leg in place of her cold and failed to get Rory to eat her carrots for her, Austin spooned her neatly saved carrots into Lindsay's bowl, "I don't like the mushy ones."

"If I catch your cold I am going to kill you," Lindsay fired back idly but ate the carrots her best friend had found offensive.

"I promise you-" Austin stopped short and sniffed the air, "did you clean?"

"You can smell?"

"Even Lysol can penetrate the brain oozing out my nostrils."

"Yes, I cleaned," she admitted, "I wanted to kill off the germs before they could kill you."

Aww, gee, you really do care," Austin managed to get out before she was racked with another round of coughs.

Lindsay chuckled, "and you just might really be dying."

"I know," Austin nodded, "finally someone believes me instead of stupid Danny who shakes his head and calls me a drama queen."

"Good Lord, y'all must have been entertaining when you were younger."

"When all my brain cells are firing again," she smiled, "remind me to tell you about the time Danny and Andy decided to fake sick so they could watch some new music video on MTV... Ma Messer was watching them and caught on part way through the morning... she shut off the TV, wrapped up both in thick blankets, and treated them like they were really sick."

"Gotta remember that one for when Colton and Isa are older."

"Nah, S'not like they show music videos on MTV no more."

"Austin," Lindsay laughed and shook her head, "I love you."

"Love you too," Austin smiled and abandoned her healing foods to stretch out on the couch with her feet on Lindsay's lap. "When will Danny be home?"

"Two more episodes," Lindsay nodded toward the TV and rested a hand on Austin's ankle, "think you'll make it."

"S'long as I gots my Florence Nightingale."

"Sleep, Aust."

"Mkay," Austin agreed and burrowed her head into the pillow, "wake me up if Kirk does somethin' stupid."

"See you in about thirty seconds."

"Hardy-har-har," Austin grumbled and pulled the afghan tightly around herself. They were engulfed in silence, save for Lorelai Gilmore ranting softly on the television screen, and Lindsay was content to sit with her friend's feet on her lap while the sickly one snoozed. A few minutes later Austin spoke again, "Lin?"

"Sleep, Austin."

"One 'ore thing, k?"

"Okay."

Austin forced herself to sit up slightly, despite the pounding in her head, "thanks for takin' care of me today... next time I'll bring something more than leftover pizza and coffee."

"Don't you dare," Lindsay countered, "my Florence Nightingale is the cool one who brings cold pizza and good coffee and lets me drool on her shoulder while watching the Yankees game on mute. Don't muck with the system, Austin."

"Okay," Austin dropped back on the couch, "Lindsay... we're nuts."

"Yep," she agreed, "pretty much."


End file.
